


You'll Be In My Heart

by phantomhivemast3r



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: FACE Family, Fourth of July, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 05:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4553289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomhivemast3r/pseuds/phantomhivemast3r
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To calm a young, scared America, England sings him a lullaby. This lullaby has special powers: it will forever protect Alfred from danger and let him know that England will always be by his side, no matter what. But many years later, their once-familial relationship has taken a turn for the worse... will the two brethren Nations be able to sing together again? Or has the magic worn off forever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	You'll Be In My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is a songfic based on "You'll Be In My Heart" by Phil Collins. For the full effect, I suggest listening to this as you read!

** You’ll Be in My Heart **

“England…?” a small, frightened voice called out into the darkness of the large bedroom. In the daylight, it was a simple, cozy room with brightly colored walls and lots of fun toys for the little boy that resided there to play with. But at night, the moonlight that shone in through the window cast a ghostly pall over the dwelling and gave the once-friendly toys the menacing outlines of monsters waiting in the darkness. Usually, the little boy could ignore these things long enough to fall into a restful slumber…but on some nights, such as this, he lay awake in his bed for hours watching the shadows, waiting for something to move, and jumping whenever a passing animal called out into the night.

It was times like these, after trying his best to fall asleep, that the little boy finally steeled his nerves enough to call out into the empty darkness. He knew that his caretaker was only a few rooms away, and if the boy was loud enough, the older man was sure to come running to his side. However, it seemed that this time the boy’s voice was just a tad too quiet; after what felt like hours of waiting for a response, there was still no sign that his caretaker had heard a sound.

The little boy sat up in his bed, the white, freshly-washed covers falling down to rest in his lap. He shifted his legs so that they were curled up under him, getting a double sense of protection from both the covers and the nightgown he always wore that was so long that it hung down past his knees. It also had a bright, red bow that tied right under his chin to keep the collar upright. He tugged said collar down a bit; the embroidered trim was starting to tickle his neck. He cleared his throat and called a little louder:

“England?” Still no response. The little boy bit his lip; why wasn’t his caretaker responding? It usually didn’t take him this long… Suddenly, the boy’s eyes widened in horror as a terrible thought crossed his mind.

What if one of the monsters that lurked in the darkness had gotten him?! The older man had revealed on more than one occasion that he sometimes had to fight “bad guys;” what if he had gotten attacked tonight?! What if he… what if he had _lost?_ The little boy shook his head; no, that was unthinkable. His big brother was strong! He wouldn’t let a silly monster take him down! Especially when he still had _him_ to care for!

…Right? Despite trying his best to reassure himself, the boy still couldn’t help but worry. He stared out the doorway where there was a ray of light spilling into the hallway from the living room. This was where his big brother (though they were not related by blood, the little boy had been looked after for so long that he considered the older man more than just a “caretaker”) would sit and read for a  few hours after the boy had been put to bed. From that distance, the older man was able to hear if anything happened in the boy’s room while still having some sort of privacy to read in peace.

So why wasn’t he responding to the little boy’s calls? The small Nation was beginning to get concerned. He was starting to seriously think about whether he wanted to brave the treacherous walk from his bed to the living room to see if the older Nation was alright. But just as he took a deep breath and gripped the covers with one hand, ready to throw them off and run as fast as he could, he saw a shadow cross the path of the light spilling down the hallway. He immediately slid down further under the covers so that only his eyes could be seen; hopefully, it was his caretaker…but he couldn’t be entirely certain. Footsteps came towards the room and soon a comfortingly familiar figure was framed in the doorway.

“Alfred? Did you call for me?” the figure said softly, his English-accented voice instantly soothing any doubts of who he was. The little boy immediately sat up straight again and nodded.

“England, I…I couldn’t sleep…,” he said softly, his tiny voice wavering. He didn’t know why, but suddenly his vision was starting to get blurry; the wave of relief he had felt at seeing his big brother safe and sound had been too much for his tired mind to handle.

“Oh, Alfred, _shh_ … it’s okay!” England walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed, putting a gentle hand on the small child’s head. Alfred looked up at him with big, teary eyes, and the Brit gave him a soothing smile. “What’s gotten you so bothered, love?”

“I’m… I’m afraid t-the monsters are g-going to get me!” the young boy exclaimed, trying to keep his attention focused on the man sitting next to him; if he looked around the room and saw the menacing shadows again, he feared that he would burst into tears.

“I’ve told you many times before: the monsters are _not_ going to get you as long as I’m around,” England told him, his emerald eyes showing nothing but truth in his words. “I promise.”

“O-okay…” Alfred bit his lip; even with this reassurance, the sensation of uneasiness that was coursing throughout his body didn’t lessen up. England noticed that his young protégé was still slightly tense; his little fingers were gripping the covers tightly. He smiled again comfortingly, an idea coming to mind.

“How about I show you some magic?” he said, and Alfred’s watery eyes widened.

“Really?!” Though he knew that his caretaker could do magic, it was a rare occurrence that he was actually allowed to _see_ it. England always said that it was dangerous if not handled correctly. But Alfred was delighted that his big brother had actually offered to show him some; there was no _way_ he would pass up this opportunity.

“Yes,” England replied, chuckling slightly at the obvious wonderment etched across the young boy’s face. “Now, this is a very special spell; if you sing it to someone you truly care about, it will protect them from all the monsters out there in the world. But it has to come from the bottom of your heart; it will not work for just _anyone._ ”

Alfred nodded intently, extremely curious. He knew that, according to England, spells that came from the bottom of your heart were of the most powerful kind of magic; he was excited to see what his big brother was going to do.

“Lay down,” England instructed gently, and Alfred instantly scooted further down under the covers, still staring at him intently. By now, though, his tears had mostly dried up, much to England’s relief; there was only a small dampness in the corners of the boy’s sky-blue eyes. England cleared his throat and softly hummed a note. Alfred couldn’t help but smile, his excitement starting to get the better of him.

“So this’ll protect me from all the monsters, big brother?” he asked, and England nodded.

“Yes. Anytime you feel scared or alone, just remember this song and know that my spirit is always there with you to guide and help you,” the Englishman replied, running a calming hand over the child’s short, blonde hair. Alfred nodded and grinned even wider. “Now close your eyes and relax.”

Alfred did as instructed. He shut his eyes and lay back against the pillows, trying his best to only focus on the presence of his big brother by his side. England hummed the same note he had before, a little louder this time. Alfred felt a warm hand lightly grasp his own, and then England began to sing.

_“Come stop your crying,_

_It’ll be alright._

_Just take my hand,_

_Hold it tight._

 

_I will protect you,_

_From all around you;_

_I will be here,_

_Don’t you cry.”_

The elder Nation paused and shifted his gaze from staring into space to down at the boy by his side. To his utter shock, his blue eyes were open and once again filled with tears. The Brit’s face twisted into an expression of concern.

“Alfred, are you okay?!” he questioned, once again placing a hand on the boy’s head. For some unknown reason, as soon as he had heard England’s voice, Alfred’s eyes had started to water again. Whether it was from the emotion that his big brother put in the song or from the obvious love that could be heard in his voice the little boy couldn’t be certain; all he knew was that _something_ that the older man did had triggered a surge of emotions.

_This_ must be the magic that England was always talking about.

“I’m fine,” the boy answered softly. He gazed down at the covers and shifted a bit. “U-um… could you… sing more?”

“I don’t want to upset you…” England had no idea what had made the boy tear up again, but he certainly didn’t want to prolong it.

“You’re not! Really!” Alfred insisted. England gazed at him skeptically, to which the boy responded with an equally potent, puppy-dog-eyed stare of his own. “Please, England?” The elder Nation sighed.

“If it makes you happy, then I will continue to sing.” A small smile lit up the boy’s face. England smiled back, and America suddenly held out his arms towards him. Instinctively, the Brit grasped the child under the shoulders and brought him close so that his left arm was cradling Alfred’s legs and the other was placed against his back, creating a safe little cocoon. The boy wrapped his small arms around England’s neck and rested his face against his shoulder. Still smiling, England lightly kissed the boy’s forehead and started rocking him gently. After letting the child get used to the motion for a while, the Englishman slowly began to sing again.

_“For one so small,_

_You seem so strong._

_My arms will hold you,_

_Keep you safe and warm._

_This bond between us_

_Can’t be broken._

_I will be here,_

_Don’t you cry._

_‘Cause you’ll be in my heart._

_Yes, you’ll be in my heart._

_From this day on,_

_Now and forever more._

_You’ll be in my heart,_

_No matter what they say._

_You’ll be in my heart, always.”_

Carefully, so as not to disturb the child, England slowly stopped the rocking motion and lowered Alfred back onto the bed. To his amazement, the boy was sound asleep. He smiled to himself; he had no idea that his lullaby would be calming enough to soothe excitable little Alfred. He rearranged the covers to that the child was safely tucked under the sheets and gently placed one more kiss on the boy’s forehead. Standing up, he gazed contentedly down at his young protégé.

“No matter what happens, I will _always_ be there to protect you,” England said, quietly enough not to wake the boy but just loud enough that his voice could be heard throughout the dark, silent room. That was his promise to the child that he had vowed to take under his wing and protect, and nothing was ever going to change that.

Nothing in this world could ever tear them apart.

***

_July 4 th, 1776._

Standing in an open field littered with the bodies of fallen soldiers, the two Nations faced off with each other. The rain was pouring down upon them, drenching their already-soaked red, white, and blue uniforms and making the ground increasingly more treacherous to walk on. Both men had their guns pointed in each other’s faces, and their stances mirrored each other’s. Even their expressions of grim determination matched; the only difference was that the shorter blonde had a small, almost imperceptible hint of fear in his emerald eyes. He didn’t have to turn around to know that all of his army had been defeated. Most of the soldiers lying lifeless on the ground were wearing _his_ uniform. He now had no one to back him up, while the other Nation still had an entire army.

“Hey, Britain!” the taller blonde said, his blue eyes narrowed. “All I want is my freedom! I’m no longer a child… nor your little brother. From now on, consider me… _Independent!”_

At these words, a cold shock suddenly spread throughout England’s body. He found himself frozen; he could no longer move his feet, could no longer move his arms or hands, could no longer even breathe. Had he really just heard that? Had the Nation that he had raised from a small child and treated as his own flesh and blood really just said… _that?!_ It was inconceivable.

No _,_ the Brit thought, grinding his teeth together; he would _not_ let things end like this. America was either his little brother… or he wasn’t a Nation at all.

Without any warning, he charged forward. America, surprised by the sudden burst of speed he thought the elder Nation was no longer capable of, had only just enough time to raise his gun in defense. He barely managed to block the bayonet as it came hurtling towards his face. However, his grip on the gun was weak, and England soon managed to thrust it out of his hands, where it went flying off to land in the mud a good distance away.

Everyone paused. America stood stock still, staring directly into the barrel of the gun pointed between his eyes. England was glaring at America, breathing heavily. After a few tense seconds that felt like hours, the Brit finally spoke.

“I won’t allow it!” he shouted. “You idiot! Why can’t you follow anything through to the end?!” He thrust the gun a mere centimeter towards the younger Nation, but this movement was too much for the American soldiers.

“Ready!” a captain commanded, and all of the soldiers in the front line instantly came to attention. “Aim!” As one entity, they all pointed their guns towards the lone Brit. They all had the perfect shot…and yet none of them made any further movement. Once again, everyone was at a standstill. The American soldiers seemed reluctant to shoot the British Nation, who seemed to be frozen in his place once again.

America stared at the gun in front of him, wondering if this was really the end. Would his former caretaker- no, his former _big brother,_ really be able to _shoot_ him? He somehow doubted that the surprisingly kind-hearted Brit would actually be able to pull the trigger… but then again, he had been sure of other things that the elder Nation would certainly never do to him, and look where they were now.

Then, slowly, England lowered the rifle. America shifted his gaze to the Brit’s face, shocked. England’s expression was full of pain; it actually _hurt_ to look into his emerald eyes.

“There’s no way I could shoot you,” the elder Nation said. The emotion in his voice was so strong that his usually commanding tone wavered. “I can’t…” He threw his gun to the ground, where it sunk a few inches into the dirty mud. Immediately after this action, he himself sunk to his knees, resting one clenched fist on his thigh and putting the other hand over his face, trying to hide the tears that he knew would spill over at any moment.

“Why?!” he questioned, his voice cracking. His shoulders shook violently with every breath he took. “Damn it, _why?!_ It’s not fair!”

America stared down at the defeated Nation crying by his feet. He had never thought in a million years that the once-powerful England would be reduced to a crying mess, and all because of _him_ , for that matter.

“You know why,” the younger Nation said, his tone final and yet strangely soft at the same time. Though he was happy that he was finally free of the chains England had tried to trap him with, he couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling of sadness that threatened to make him burst into tears as well at the sight of his former family member looking so utterly defeated. Suddenly, a memory came into his head that he hadn’t thought of for a long, long time.

It was of the day that he went to live with England. America had been playing in the field as he always did, and England was there with him.

“Let’s go home,” the Brit had said, and had offered his hand. Of course, being the naïve, trusting child he had always been, America had taken it without question. He was sure that this big, strong Nation would always be there to protect him. Looking back, America realized just how wrong he had been.

“What happened?” he asked quietly as England’s sobs increased. The Brit was no longer even trying to hide the fact that he was openly weeping. He had already lost his younger brother; what could be worse than that?

“I remember when you were great,” America continued sadly. He continued to stare down at the elder Nation, who made no move to reply. America then closed his mouth and remained silent, the two of them existing in complete silence except for the sounds of England’s sobbing. After a few minutes, the American troops slowly started to file off of the battlefield, knowing that the former British Empire could no longer do anything to hurt the newly-independent Nation. The captain touched America’s shoulder, but he merely shrugged him off and said nothing. Deciding it would be best to let him come in his own time, the captain and all of his soldiers left the muddy warzone until the only two people remaining were the former brethren Nations.

England’s tears eventually calmed down, but he refused to look up. He moved his hand from his face to rest it on his other thigh and glared at the ground, not daring to meet the gaze of the triumphant Nation standing above him. They stayed like that, unmoving, for a good ten minutes, until America finally seemed to snap out of his daze.

He was now an independent Nation. He had a lot of work to do.

Abruptly, he turned on his heel and started walking away from the Brit. However, he couldn’t help but keep his pace slow, as if a small, subconscious part of him was hoping that the elder Nation would call out to him…but of course, he didn’t. He made no noise at all, in fact. At least not until America was just barely far enough away that he would be almost out of earshot.

A soft, lyrical noise suddenly filtered into the American’s ears. He froze, his eyes widening; that sound was awfully familiar… and also unmistakable. Slowly, he turned around to find England staring at him. He was still on his knees, but his face was now raised up towards the younger Nation. Fresh tears were rolling down his cheeks, but to America’s utter bewilderment… he seemed to be smiling. However, it was hard to determine his exact expression because the Brit’s mouth was currently moving as a familiar lullaby filled the air.

_“When destiny calls you,”_ England sang, his tone wavering ever-so-slightly through his tears. _“You must be strong.”_

“No,” America muttered in disbelief; how could he sing _that_?! Of all things, he had to sing _that_ song… The song that America had used countless times to protect himself from the monsters in the world… As he had gotten older, he had slowly found out who the _real_ monsters were. But even in the grip of fighting against England (though he would never dare to admit it to anyone, even himself at times), on nights when he was alone and feeling particularly down, he would sit in his room and sing that song to himself. It made him feel safe, like he had the protection of his big brother once again…even if _he_ was the one that he needed protection _from_.

_“I may not be with you,”_ the Englishman continued, not bothering to wipe the tears from his face as they mingled with the rain droplets.  His sobbing had increased, but he refused to stop singing, nor would he look away from Alfred. _His_ Alfred; _his_ little brother. He needed to finish this; to make it known that even through this horrible war…there might be a tiny thread of hope that one day they would be reunited again.

_“But you’ve got to hold on._

_They’ll see in time._

_I know._

_We’ll show them together.”_

It was at this point that he paused to make sure he was looking directly into America’s sky-blue eyes, which were currently heavy with unshed tears. The younger Nation shook his head, unable to speak, silently begging for England not to continue, but the Brit paid him no mind. He once again began to sing.

_“’Cause you’ll be in my heart._

_Yes, you’ll be in my heart._

_I’ll be there from this day on,_

_Now and forevermore.”_

He paused again, holding America’s captured gaze. They both knew what was coming next; the last verse. The duet. The one that they had always sung together. This was the moment; somehow, they both subconsciously knew that if they couldn’t get through this last verse, it would be all over. There was no way they would be able to ever, _ever_ repair their shattered relationship. They stared each other down for a tense moment, and then England tentatively let out the words that would begin or end it all.

_“Oh, you’ll be in my heart…”_

 Silence. He waited for America to respond, but the younger Nation said nothing. He merely stared with an imperceptible expression across his stone-cold face. England gritted his teeth and hung his head; it was officially all over. He had lost his best friend, his brother…the only one he felt had ever truly cared about him. He had selfishly thrown it all away and he was never going to get it back. He began to sob again, his whole body shaking uncontrollably. He could feel himself slipping, mentally and physically, all of the battle wounds he had received over the years suddenly beginning to show all at once. He didn’t care about anything anymore; nothing could ever make him feel happy again. He was about to let himself fall onto the muddy ground, ready to lay there for hours and let the rain wash over his despair, when he heard a sound so quiet that at first he thought it was just his imagination. But when he opened his emerald eyes, he saw America staring right back at him. And what’s more, the younger Nation was mouthing something that matched the faint song that England was hearing.

_“You’ll be in my heart,”_ he was saying, the tears he had been trying so hard to keep from falling now staining his pale, cold cheeks. England cracked a small, sad smile.

_“No matter what they say,”_ he responded through his tears.

_“I’ll be with you,”_ America answered.

_“You’ll be here in my heart…”_

_“I’ll be there…”_

_“Always.”_

_“Always.”_

They both paused for a moment; the final few lines were always sung together in perfect unison. With all that had just happened, not to mention the fact that both of their voices were already cracking with emotion, they wondered if they would be able to make it sound like it always had…If it was even possible for them to be in unison anymore. As they stared into each other’s piercing gaze, they silently agreed that they had to give it a shot. Taking a deep breath that filled each of their lungs with wet, heavy air, they both began to sing.

_“I’ll be with you._

_I’ll be there for you always._

_Always and always._

_Just look over your shoulder._

_Just look over your shoulder._

_Just look over your shoulder._

_Just look over your shoulder._

_I’ll be there always.”_

The last note lingered in the air long after the Nations had finished singing. They had done it; they had managed to sing together once again. Despite everything that had happened, at least they were able to do that one simple thing. The two former brothers stared at each other, trying to figure out what this meant.  

But emotions were still too raw, and soon America had had enough. This was not the time to make amends; this was the time to start anew. Without a word, he turned and walked off the battlefield, roughly wiping away his tears as he did so. He had a new life to lead, and he certainly didn’t need England to be a part of it.

The emerald-eyed Nation watched his younger brother go, powerless to stop him. But even so…for a moment, just one miniscule moment, they had been connected again. It may have been brief, but England knew that this meant that maybe… _maybe_ one day they could find each other again. One day, if the fates were kind, England could get the chance to try again. And if he was blessed with the opportunity for a second time, he would be the best big brother the world had ever seen.

But until then, he would have to wait. He would perpetually be sitting on the mud-soaked battlefield, the rain washing over him but unable to flush his never-ending tears away. As he always used to say to Alfred whenever the younger Nation had asked what the future would hold for them, only time would tell.

_“Come stop your crying,”_ he began to sing softly. _“I-It’ll be alright…”_ He paused, putting a hand over his mouth and scrunching his eyes shut; his whole world felt like it was literally falling to pieces, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. He took a deep, shuddering breath and lowered his hand, staring blankly up into the grey sky.

_“Just take my hand,_

_H-Hold it tight._

 

_I…I will protect you,_

_From all around y-you;_

_I w-will be here,_

_Don’t… Don’t you cry…”_

And with that, he dissolved into another long, harsh fit of tears. His loud weeping could be heard throughout the empty, forsaken battlefield long into the dark, shadow-filled night.

**_~The End~_ **


End file.
